Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. II | In Progress

Chapter Seven: For Those of Us Who Can't Say 'No'

**

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was that the pain was gone.

The physical pain, at least. That was gone. The throbbing and inflammation around my ankle had diminished, but I still didn't move. I laid still on the bed I was on, a mile more comfortable than the table I was put on in the examination room before I had gone to sleep. I adjusted my hips gently, feeling for any soreness down there—any sign that I had been looked at, but there was nothing. No odd feeling. Not much of a feeling at all. It didn't rule out the possibility, however.

I sat up slowly and took in my surroundings. I was in a room, decorated expensively with a large vanity in the corner by the window, which was uncovered and giving an unrestricted view of the blackened sky outside, dotted with stars that shun bright from the lightless surroundings. A giant, wooden dresser stood across the room parallel to the bed—a bed that had a frame made of the same material as the dresser, poked pillars standing tall on all four corners. Aside from the rest of the décor such as the detailed burgundy rug and the pulled away white curtains, the room felt generic. Void of much personality. Like a hotel room—meant to serve a purpose. Not meant to serve an individual's needs stylistically. And once I came to this conclusion, my heart began to race.

So, this is how it begins, I thought to myself. I awake here and wait for someone to come in and do what they want with me.

I shot up from the bed and looked at the door. I rushed over, felt the handle—locked. Of course. On the other side of the door, I could hear multiple voices. Female and male laughter layered voice on top of voice on the other side.

"Fuck!" I hissed. I went over and tried the window, but that was locked, too. And there was no way I could break the glass without alarming someone; the people here had heightened senses—the sense of smell, sense of taste, sense of hearing. I wouldn't make it out the window frame without someone coming in.

I was stuck in there. At least until someone came in the room. There was no point in arming myself; what chance did I have against vampires and witches that lurked around the house? I stood around, thinking of something, anything, I could do. I thought of what I would be forced to do. I thought of how one of them would force themselves upon me. Would I be punished for fighting back? Most likely. They made a mistake with leaving some essence of myself behind when they took my soul—I'd fight back. Even if I knew the consequence, I still had the urge to fight back. Even if it ended with him winning, I would still fight. But Sajida was smarter than that; even though the Council requested the girls retain some sense of their personality, there was probably still a way Sajida could control us from her Bayou. What if, when I tried to fight, I would suddenly be immobile? Rid of the ability to refuse? We probably all had personality until it was time for these men to have their way with us. Then, we were practically vegetables. Or forced to give them exactly what they wanted.

I was so consumed by my thoughts, I hadn't realized that my clothes had been changed and I had also been bathed. I looked at myself in the mirror of the vanity. My eyes shone back at me, bright and vibrant, but also clouded and murky, like it reflected how I felt inside; I couldn't grasp the reality of looking this way yet. I felt like a copy of Lisa with these eyes. The cuts and bruises on my face were gone, and I had been dressed in a set of clothes that looked familiar. I wore an all-black vest with matching pants and a coat that hung long in the back but remained open in the front. My shoes were boots that sat right below my knees, buckled in the front and back, my pants tucked into them loosely. The outfit was large in some areas; this wasn't tailored to fit me. I was given some old bloodsucker's clothes—a member of the Council's fit. They all wore this outfit or a variation of it.

If I'm dressed like this, then they must have a different use for me.

Like clockwork, the door opened. A chill wind entered the room when Sylvia filled it with her presence. Her dress was gray, suede, opened in the chest area to reveal some cleavage but covered up everywhere else, including the sleeves that draped down to her fingers. She took gracious steps into the room, like a leopard stalking prey. One foot after another, slowly and quietly. I stared at her growing closer towards me. I felt an intense hatred boil inside of me when I saw that tall, lean woman. I had flashbacks to her standing before me in the ritual circle by the water's edge, smirking at me drenched in blood, tied up and helpless. I remembered her voice, telling me everyone I knew would be dead soon. It was crisp in my mind; I hated her with a ferocity that could never be matched, and she knew this. She enjoyed it.